Coward
by too-much-like-Luna
Summary: As the first war against the Dark Lord approaches, Peter Pettigrew tries to find his place in the world.


**Coward**

You watch them, continuously. Like you have nothing better to do. (You're sure you _could _find something else to do, if you wanted to. If they made you). But you don't join them, because you're different, quiet, not always an integral part of the group (not a part of the group who has _opinions)._

You don't mind. You like being surrounded by them, hidden under James' charm and Sirius' constant, never-ending (desperate) boisterousness, sitting beside Remus and listening the the other two plot and bicker. Hidden. Safe. Content.

"But are you _happy?"_ a voice asks you, when James is snoring and Sirius shifts restlessly as he dreams and there is nothing to distract you from yourself. "_Completely _happy?"

You realize you don't know.

But it's okay. You don't _need _to know, you don't need to examine yourself at all because there's always distraction to be had when you're in the presence of the Marauders.

And then.

Then.

There's a war coming, from the man whose name is being said less and less (and, when it is uttered, only quietly, with unwilling awe hidden by terror), and your time at school is drawing to a close. The world looms before you, terrifying and harsh.

The voice inside your head stops staying obligingly quiet during the day, starts to insist on commenting and deriding every day events, almost unexpectedly vitriolic.

"Look," the voice whispers, and you look, unable to do anything else. James and Sirius have their heads together in a corner, whispering conspiratorially, though they pause for a moment to call Remus over to answer a question. "They didn't call _you_ over," the voice points out. "They don't need you. They don't _want _you."

You watch as Remus laughs, as James, also laughing, pushes Sirius off the chair. "How much protection will they offer you?" the voice continues. "How much will they be willing to put on the line for someone they don't even _like?"_

You move your gaze from them. You study your knees (knobby).

"Look," the voice says, stronger now. "Look at how confident, how strong they are." There is a group of students at the Slytherin table, and as you watch they dissemble and take their seats, proud and superior. "So safe, so secure," the voice continues. You watch Snape, James' words ringing in your head ("That Snivellus, he's a bad sort." he'd said. "Knew more Dark curses when we were firsties than any decent human being." Remus had looked disapproving, Sirius had laughed, you had been silent. "Snivellus Snape, perfect little Death-Eater," Sirius had said, the words still a joke and not yet a serious possibility). Snape raises an eyebrow at you, sneers, turns away. You don't.

School ends, and you are thrust headfirst into reality. The war has arrived, horrifying deaths making daily headlines. No one lingers in the streets. One day, you see a child laugh as it hurries past in the arms of it's mother, and the mother frowns and shushes it immediately, glancing around the alley warily.

"Look," your voice says. "Look. _See."_

So you do.

The Dark Lord projects confidence and strength. You feel yourself weaken with relief when you are within his presence, safe.

"And what can you offer me?" The Dark Lord asks idly.

"Me?" you squeak, confused.

"Of course," he says, turning his eyes to meet yours. "What can you give me? What would I get in return for protecting you...ensuring your safety for the rest of your life?"

You yearn for his promise. Desire and fear overcome you.

"I..." you start, trying desperately to think of something you (pitiful, quiet, unimaginative you) can offer _him._ Then, you clear your throat and start again. "I watch," you say hesitantly "I _see._ I can give you information on the Order of the Phoenix...and an inside source. I..." You look up, and say firmly "I can tell you about the Potters. I can meet with them, for you."

The Dark Lord looks at you for an interminable moment, and then a smile curls his mouth. "You will," he says, agreeing, and you sag with happiness. "You may even be useful."

The Dark Mark burns as it is etched onto your skin, but when it is done you stare at it for hours, entranced.

Amazing, how such a small thing, such a small amount of pain, can ensure that you never have to worry again.

_Fin_


End file.
